


Day 14: Foot Fetish

by ImagineBeatles



Series: Magical Mystery Smut Month [15]
Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Fluff and Smut, Foot Fetish, Foot Jobs, Getting Together, M/M, Magical Mystery Smut Month, Sharing a Bed, Tickling, toe sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:13:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28721127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineBeatles/pseuds/ImagineBeatles
Summary: "'Foot foot!' says the John train." - ChutJeDors, after reading this at midnight.For years now, John has had feelings for his best friend. Sharing a single bed with him after having had a couple of beers, however, offers some opportunities that work out better John ever could have hoped for.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Series: Magical Mystery Smut Month [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811731
Comments: 12
Kudos: 65





	Day 14: Foot Fetish

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by an ask I came across on tumblr a while ago that talked about the possibility of John trying things on Paul whenever they shared a bed during their teenage years. I figured it would be a great set up for the foot fetish fic I was supposed to be writing for this challenge. 
> 
> Originally I had something very different in mind that was going to be a lot shorter than how this turned out, but that version was a real struggle and I just loved this idea too much, so here it is. 
> 
> I hope you will like it <3

“Shhh!! You’ll wake me dad!”

John grinned like an idiot as Paul stumbled into the house, desperately trying to hold back his giggles as he waved at John to stop making him laugh. His cheeks were flushed and his hair was a disheveled mess from the wind outside, which combined with his friend’s usual energy reminded John of an over-excited and clumsy puppy, trying to use its small and underdeveloped body for the first time. 

Of course, Paul was none of those things. He was only seventeen and yet in the years John had known Paul, the lad had grown not only an inch taller than John but had grown into his body with a confidence that was far more frustrating for the older boy than Paul could ever be aware of. But the alcohol in his system made him giggly and uncoordinated. He stumbled forward rather comically, pawing at the walls with his hands to keep himself steady as laughter continued to bubble up from his throat. John knew he would only have to give him a little push at his shoulder and he’d fall laughing to the ground. Paul would look adorable, like a baby deer that had fallen over in his first attempt at walking. It was a tempting thing to do, but John knew Paul’d make enough noise to not only wake his father but the neighbours too. 

They hadn’t even been drinking that much, but the gig had been good and the night even better and they had descended into a fit of giggles and laughter that neither of them had been able to drag themselves or the other out of — no matter how much they tried. 

“You’re the one laughing!” John pointed out, but his point was immediately undermined by the chuckles that escaped with it. At least Paul didn’t seem to notice. 

“You’re making me! Now shush!” he said, physically shushing John by placing a finger in front of his lips. 

Still fighting back their giggles, the two boys made their way upstairs to Paul's small bedroom, clinging to each other for support. Somehow they managed without waking up either Paul’s father or his brother, and once they were inside Paul let himself collapse exhausted on his bed as John shut the door behind them, their laughter finally dying down. A light next to Paul’s bed lit up, engulfing the small room in a warm orange light. Paul, who had switched it on, crawled further up his bed, rolling over onto his back and pulling his knees up to leave some room for John, his sock-covered feet planted firmly on the mattress. It was only when Paul turned his head to look at his friend that John realised he had been staring. 

“Think we’ll ever make it?” Paul asked and John blinked at his friend, not sure what he was referring to. 

“Make what?” 

“You know, us. Famous.”

“Sure. If we keep trying.” 

Paul hummed non-committedly, turning his head back to stare up at the ceiling with a contemplative look on his face. 

Despite the rapid development of his body, Paul’s face still had its baby-faced look to it, soft and boyish, and in the soft dimmed light of the room it looked even prettier than it usually did. Scraping his throat, John went to Paul’s chest of drawers to get both him and Paul a pair of pyjama bottoms. 

“Tops-and-tails, then?” he asked, heart in his throat, and when Paul hummed once more from the bed, he couldn’t help but smile. 

***

“John! Stop nicking the blankets!”

“You’re always hogging 'em! I’m just taking pre-emptive matters, me.” 

“I don’t  _ hog  _ the blankets.” 

“What would you call it then?”

“Sleeping. Now, give us some, yeah? I'm cold." 

Snickering, John loosened his hold on the blanket and allowed Paul to pull some of it towards him. They had turned off the lights, but despite the darkness, John could still catch some glimpses of his friend thanks to the weak silver light that shone in through the bedroom window. He was lying on his side, his back turned to John’s feet, his raven brown hair still an unkempt mess on his head. He was shirtless too and John was ashamed of the disappointment he felt when Paul pulled the blanket firmly over his chest, hiding it from view. 

John knew he shouldn’t think about Paul this way. Paul was his friend. But as time went on and they grew closer and closer in their friendship, it became more and more difficult not to. 

Sometimes John swore he caught Paul glancing at him too, with a look more intense than what would be considered appropriate between friends. John noticed other things too. The way he would touch John's arm or knee sometimes, or wink at him, or how he would laugh at John’s jokes just a little bit harder than at other people’s, or how sometimes he'd say something suggestive that had John's mind racing. It affected John more than he had the guts to admit. It got his blood swirling to dangerous places, making him think dangerous things.

But John could never be sure if it was his own false hope or if there was actually a possibility that his desires weren’t as inappropriate as he feared. It didn't help that Paul was naturally flirty, either. Usually his friend's flirtations didn't mean anything. But then again, sometimes they did.

John didn't know if Paul fancied men. Sure, they had all made that joke at Paul's expense, and Paul flirted with everyone from girls to old ladies to school teachers to bus drivers to random people he talked to on the street. But none of it told John anything.

If Paul had been a girl, John would have asked him out years ago. Probably the day he first met him. But Paul wasn’t a girl and so he had to be careful and push his luck in other ways, always hidden behind a shield of playful comradery, always with enough pretense that he could put it down as a silly joke if Paul took it the wrong way. And with that prerequisite there was only so much he could do. 

It was frustrating. He had known Paul for almost three years now and he had gotten nowhere. 

Lying in bed with Paul, however, while being the most intimate and thus also the most nerve-wracking moment he had with the other boy, did offer some opportunities to go a little farther than usual. Even in the tops-and-tails position they had adopted the first time John had spent a night at Paul’s house and which they had stuck to ever since, they were many times closer than they’d ever be while they were awake. They were constantly touching, Paul’s bed being far too small to allow for even an inch-wide gap between them. Paul was right there, his half-naked body pressed fully against John’s, warm and firm, bony yet soft in places that made John's hands tingle.

It was one of the few opportunities John had to touch Paul’s body and get away with it. Not just his arm or shoulder but more daring places. He had done it often enough, teasing Paul by touching him, groping at him, pinching him, nudging him, whatever he could, wherever he could. Just to touch. Just to see what he would get away with. Just to see how far Paul would allow him to go before he’d throw John out of bed. 

At the moment, he'd only have to move his left foot perhaps an inch or two and he would be able to feel Paul’s silky hair tickle his toes. Paul’s legs, long and slim, were right by John’s hands, and his naked feet were resting by John’s head, his ankles touching his shoulder. It would be so easy to touch him. John’s fingers itched with the need.

Paul himself didn’t seem too concerned with their closeness. He had shut his eyes and his face looked peaceful as he waited for sleep to take him. John always thought Paul looked beautiful asleep and as per usual it was his mouth, small and plump, parted slightly in alcohol-aided relaxation, that caught John’s attention the most, causing a deep warmth to spread through his stomach as he let his eyes rest on those pillowy pink lips. 

John wished he could touch them, wanting desperately to know if they were as soft as they looked. How would they feel against his own? Would they be as warm and smooth as they looked? Or maybe they were rougher than they seemed, the skin coarser than it looked? Maybe Paul was feeling a tad cold and John would be able to feel a chill on them if he kissed them. 

His breath stocked at the thought.

He wanted Paul. He wanted those pretty lips. And he wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly he had had dreams about it. Touching them. Kissing them. Licking them. Biting them. 

It wasn’t enough. A dream wasn't real. He needed the real thing.

He needed Paul.

Inching his left foot closer, he flicked a lock of Paul’s hair with his toe. 

He got no reaction, so he did it again, undeterred, and watched as Paul again gave no reaction. When he did it a third time, a little rougher now, he saw Paul tense up, if only briefly, but he kept quiet. 

John grinned at the reaction, his heart speeding up as his mind started to come up with all sorts of different scenarios, all of them ending with the feeling of those plump lips opening up beneath his own. 

In his impatience John repeated the action a few times in rapid succession, and when he again got no reaction from his friend, he nudged the back of his head with his foot instead, chuckling as Paul let out an annoyed growl. 

“Piss off, Lennon,” he moaned, voice gravelly with sleep. It lacked any real fire and John could hear his friend's smile in it, so he simply did it again, repeating the movement over and over again, until Paul’s hand shot up from underneath the blanket to hit at his leg. 

“Get off!” he laughed. John, however, did not and simply snickered like a little kid as he continued to nudge at Paul’s head with his foot, enjoying the reactions he got. The annoyed growls Paul let out were adorable, as were the death threats Paul was now shooting his way, and the inventive curses made John giggle. Instead of killing him, however, Paul began to kick his feet, hitting John back as he shoved them into John's face.

"For fuck's—" John started as he was forced to retreat his foot so he could grasp at Paul's kicking feet with his hands. The boy's movements were quick and relentless, and it took John a moment before he finally managed to grab Paul's ankles, holding them firmly as Paul, still laughing, fought his grasp.

The little fucker didn't give up either, still trying to kick John even though his movements were restrained and still managing to get a few kicks in. Paul had definitely gotten stronger over the years, and the realisation made John momentarily and unwittingly slacken his hold, allowing Paul to break free. 

"Okay! Okay! I get it! Stop kicking me, you git," John cried with laughter as Paul resumed his assault, letting out huffy chuckles of his own. Paul, however, did not, forcing John back against the wall to evade his kicks, hands trying to grab his ankles again. 

Once he got hold of them, Paul finally and thankfully stopped moving. Looking back at him, John saw the boy grinning at him with a smug and amused expression on his face. 

"Wanker," John said, matching Paul's grin, who kicked his leg again in response. 

"Yer the one who started it," he said, but again there was no real heat in his voice, only amusement. He was a little out of breath, and the blanket had fallen off his chest, allowing John a full view. He felt a familiar warm tingle in his crotch at the sight, his mind swirling a little at the unsavory ideas that entered his brain. 

He wanted him, badly, and he almost felt he'd risk never seeing Paul again if it meant he could kiss him right there and feel those lips on him just once. Just once would be enough. 

But really, he wanted more. 

Glancing down with a grin, John looked at Paul's feet, his eyes briefly lingering on the image of his own hands wrapped around the slender ankles. A frown formed on his forehead, and Paul tensed in his hold. 

"John…" he started, already guessing what his friend had in mind, and John's grin widened at the worry in his voice. 

In truth, John had always liked Paul's feet. He knew that was weird. He didn't remember when he had first noticed. He just knew that whenever he watched Paul take off his shoes and socks, he couldn't look away from the slim nimble foot that was revealed. To him, it was like watching a girl unhook her bra. Except this was something that wasn't  _ allowed _ to turn him on, but that too only made it better.

Paul's feet were smaller than his own, soft and slender, but not as smooth or as shapely as a girl's. They were long too, skin pulled taut, and distinctly masculine, especially with the little dark hairs that grew here and there, leading up to his even hairier legs, but strangely it did not put John off. In fact, it only turned him on more, that contrast of the little black hairs against the pale skin, so masculine despite the more feminine arch and slenderness of the foot itself. His toes were small and cute, little pink nubs that curled invitingly, as if actually begging John to do unspeakable things to them.

John had often wondered how they would feel; in his hand or pressed against his cheek or in his mouth; or pushing and sliding against his cock. Sometimes he'd fantasize about them: about taking paul's foot in his lap and removing his shoe, his sock, and feel the shape of that foot in his hands before raising it up to take Paul's toes into his mouth — his big toe especially. 

Looking at Paul's feet up close, it was clear Paul took care of his feet as much as he did the rest of him. The nails were neatly clipped, the skin soft and cared for, the heels smooth despite the amount of time he was up on his feet running around doing stuff or jumping around on stage. They were beautiful, and John was holding them in his hands...

Grin turning into a determined smirk, John glanced up at Paul, feeding Paul's anxiety about what he was going to do next. Paul's eyes widened comically, and before Paul had the chance to pull his ankles free - such pretty ankles - John released one and began to tickle the underside of the other. 

The reaction he got was better than John had hoped for. Paul's whole body jerked at the feeling, back arching beautifully as his foot tried to pull itself free. His head fell back down on his pillow, and the whole room would have been filled with laughter and shrieks if it hadn't been for the fist Paul brought to his mouth to bite down on, stifling his cries. Instinctively, he retreated his other foot, protecting it from the terrible horrors the other had to endure, giving John free range to keep tickling him.

Paul looked beautiful as he lay there laughing and twisting, his cheeks red and puffy and with tears in his big brown eyes. His little teeth were on full display where he bit down his fist and his hair got even more messy. Paul had always been very ticklish and John almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

"John! Stop it! Oh god!" the boy cried, still trying to keep his voice down and managing quite well. Still, John didn't want to waste an opportunity to tease his friend even more. 

"Better be quiet, Paulie. Ya wouldn’t want to wake up yer dear ol' dad now, would ya?" he whispered loud enough for Paul to hear and grinned widely as Paul fought his laughter. 

"Wanker," Paul shot at him and John moved his fingers to a different part of Paul's foot where he knew he was even more sensitive, causing Paul's body to jerk again in a way that got John's blood rushing south.

"Swearing, Macca? Better not let dad hear. A good choir boy like you. What would he think?" 

Paul's foot jerked in his hold, almost breaking free now, and when Paul began kicking at him again with his other foot, John was forced to give in. 

Cursing, he stopped his tickling and Paul's quiet yet hysterical laughter died down to light giggles as the boy was finally allowed to catch his breath. Paul's free leg landed across John's thigh, but John continued to hold onto the other, pulling Paul's leg up higher to immobilise him as the younger boy tried to sit up, forcing him back down on the bed. 

Paul and John were both still chuckling and breathing heavily, their chests heaving as they stared at each other. 

"You look very pretty, Paul," John said, only half-joking and Paul flushed in embarrassment. 

"Git," he breathed, but John could swear he saw a hint of a smile.

Paul's leg that was resting on John's body didn't move. It was a firm and heavy press, difficult for John to ignore. 

"You're awful, Lennon," Paul spoke once he had managed to get enough air. 

"Am I?" 

"Aye. Can I have my foot back now?"

"I don't know. I kinda like having it. Think I might keep it.” To illustrate he cradled the foot closer to his chest.

John grinned at the light frown on his friend's face. Paul was watching him closely, as if trying to figure him out. 

Then, with a roll of his eyes, Paul began to wiggle his foot again, trying to pull it free as John tightened his hold and fought back, both men groaning and huffing and giggling as they fought. Paul was strong, a lot more now his foot wasn't being tickled and John could feel his own tired grip slipping. 

“John! You’re such a child! Just let go!” Paul was still giggling, a beautiful light and bubbly sound that always made the repercussions of whatever antics John got into, worth it. His laughter went straight through him, filling John's body with pride and affection. Paul didn't even realise just how beautiful he looked when he was laughing. He laughed so easily, with his whole face, the little lines around his eyes deepening, his cheeks puffing up, and in his distraction, Paul almost managed to escape John's grasp. 

John only just managed to tighten his hold, desperate to keep that pretty foot close now he had it, and before John knew it himself, he had leaned in and licked a firm stripe over the sole of Paul's foot.

"Ew, gross!" Paul cried, twisting on the bed at the tickling feeling.

It were Paul's words that made John realise what he had done, and for a moment he froze. 

Paul was still laughing, though, trying to pull his foot back as he scrunched up his nose in disgust. When their eyes met, however, Paul's amusement faded at whatever he saw in John's face. His movements gradually stilled and something flickered in his eyes that made John’s stomach drop.

He had crossed a line.

He knew he had. Touching Paul was one thing. He could do that if the circumstances were right. If it was through teasing and play-fighting or them getting drunk enough, so he could blame it on that. But now he had put his mouth on Paul. He had  _ licked _ Paul. And his foot at that. And Paul had  _ seen  _ what it meant. Whatever he had seen on John’s face as Paul had looked at him, it had said too much. 

He hadn't been thinking. 

But now he had done it. 

And Paul was watching him. 

He was waiting, waiting for John to say something that would make it all part of a joke. He was waiting for John to throw him one of his grins, throw his foot back and say something witty and insulting. He was waiting for John to deny whatever Paul thought he had seen on his face and play it off like he always did. Paul would laugh and that would be it. He'd call him a rude name and tell him to go to sleep. Maybe it would turn into a funny story they'd awkwardly recall when they were alone. One story among many, all of John's failed teasing and flirting, misremembered as a joke. That would be the end of it.

That  _ could  _ be the end of it. It was what he  _ should  _ do. But John didn't want to. He didn't want this to be the end of it. 

They were sitting frozen on the bed, eyes still locked, Paul's foot still in John's hands. He wasn't trying to pull it back anymore. It was part of the waiting game. John had crossed a line and now it was up to him to draw a new one. That flicker was still there. A warm fire in his eyes, and when Paul licked his bottom lip, John's stomach tightened. 

John knew he had to do something. He had a choice: to laugh and turn it into just another joke, or… or… 

John wasn't sure what made him move, what made him brave enough to do what he had dreamt of doing for years, but tightening his hold, John leaned in and licked at the arch of Paul's foot, putting his mouth on Paul a second time. Paul's foot jerked in his hold and Paul let out a confused hum at the undoubtedly strange feeling. John doubted any girl had ever done this to Paul. The knowledge gave John an odd sense of satisfaction. 

He could show Paul something new. 

Paul's head cocked back as John did it again, licking at his foot. This time soft giggly laughter erupted from his friend's throat, hesitant and doubtful but clearly audible. Paul's foot jerked again, once more trying to break free at the ticklish feeling. The jerks, however, were less forceful, as if he did not really mean it, and when John decided to go one step further and took Paul's big toe in his mouth, a shocked groan escaped Paul's lips. 

John expected Paul to pull back, to call him a pervert and finally throw him out as John had always feared he would, or at least to throw John out of bed and go to sleep annoyed with a serious dent in their relationship. 

But he didn’t.

He simply laid there in front of John, propped up on his elbows as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes flickering close as John gave a tentative suck.

When John gave another suck at his toe, Paul let out a strange strangled noise that was somewhere between a whine and a moan, and his head dropped between his shoulders.

Fearing what would happen if he’d stop, John kept his eyes on Paul as he continued sucking and licking at his toes, switching from the big one to some of the smaller ones and back again as Paul eyes raised themselves up to look at him. He was staring, lips slightly parted and moving as if he wanted to say something but didn't know what or how. His eyes occasionally fell close at what John was doing to him, and the leg Paul had slung over John’s lap pulled tighter.

"John…" 

The sound of Paul saying his name, his voice a husky whisper, laced with uncertain pleasure, ran a shiver down John’s spine. It was the most gorgeous sound and with renewed eagerness John slipped his tongue between Paul's small toes as he sucked, eager to hear more.

"John…" 

_ Tell me to stop. Tell me to stop and I will. Call me a pervert. A queer. Punch me. Threaten to throw me out, and I will make up a lie, and we can pretend this never happened. Tell me to stop… _

_ "John…"  _

Paul's voice sounded uncharacteristically tight. It was a tightness that John had only heard before at band practice, when they were at Shotton's house, seated in a circle, their dicks in their hands instead of their instruments and calling out girls' names instead of song lyrics. 

But Paul wasn't calling out for Brigitte Bardot or Marilyn Monroe or Jayne Mansfield or Elizabeth Taylor. He was calling out for  _ John _ . And he was calling out his name in that same broken voice that always sent tremors through John's cock and made him come that little bit faster, no matter what name he chose. 

John didn't know how long this would last so he focused on it, on Paul's voice, the quick little breaths, and the way Paul's foot felt in his mouth. He traced the shape with his tongue, sucked at the little toes, nibbled on them, felt at the skin with his lips. Paul's feet were sensitive, twitching when John did something Paul liked, and John only wanted more.

John could barely believe he was doing this. More than that, he couldn’t believe Paul hadn't hit him yet. Paul was still there, on the other end of the bed, watching John as his eyes continued to fall close over and over again. It felt incredibly intimate, to be touching and licking and kissing and caressing Paul's foot like this. He had longed to do this. Those gorgeous feet. And now he was. 

Paul still hadn't tried to move away. And John was hard in his underwear.

"John…" Paul's voice came again, breathy and sounding a lot more far gone. 

Looking at Paul, his arousal was obvious: the open mouth, the wide eyes, the flushed cheeks, the deep breaths. John had seen that all before. The way Paul bit his lip and moved his hips was the same as when John yelled out a name of a particular hot bird that clearly got Paul going. Now, however, he didn't have to pretend not to see it. He could watch. Openly. And Paul could watch him watching him. 

_ And he was. _

Paul's gaze was intense, heated but unsure, but dark with arousal. John could feel that look deep in his stomach. 

Paul still wasn't pushing him away, but he also hadn't yet given in. He seemed torn, uncertain of what to do or say as John suckled his toes. His eyes drifted over John, looking for answers, trying to figure out what he wanted and how to admit that to himself. John would give everything for Paul to continue moaning his name. 

The bedsheets lay twisted over them, not concealing much of anything, and when John looked down, he saw the clear outline of Paul's cock in his pyjama bottoms, erect and obvious. John's own cock twitched at the sight and he hummed as he sucked Paul's toes a little deeper into his mouth. 

Paul's cheeks flushed a darker scarlet, embarrassed at John's gaze on his crotch, but again, he did not move away. 

John wanted to tell him it was okay, convince Paul to give into it and let him do this to him, but he knew speaking would only risk pushing Paul away.

Moving the sheets away from his own body too, John revealed his similar state as he kept his eyes on Paul, watching as Paul's gaze travelled down to where his best friend's cock was pressing against the fabric of his borrowed pyjama bottoms.  _ Paul's pyjama bottoms. _

_ "Christ…" _ Paul's voice came, almost too quiet for John to hear. And just as John grew afraid Paul had finally gotten to his senses and was going to kick his head in, the younger man looked up. Arousal and need burned in his eyes and John's gaze immediately fell to Paul's hand as the younger boy moved it to grasp himself through his bottoms. 

_ Fuck. _

He couldn't stop staring as Paul began to touch himself, slim fingers carefully curling around himself through the thick fabric. John couldn't help but moan at the sight, sucking Paul's toes a little harsher while Paul began to give himself a few pulls in response. It was a gorgeous sight, one that John had seen many times before from the corner of his eyes. But this time he didn't have to be secretive about looking. And Paul wasn't jerking off to some blonde, big-titted girl, but  _ to him. _ To what  _ he  _ was doing to him.

John groaned at the thought.

They didn't speak as Paul continued to touch himself, both too afraid to acknowledge what was happening between them. They weren't laughing anymore and the only sounds they could hear was the sound of John slurping around Paul's toes and the ruffling of clothes as Paul jerked himself through them. They could hear each other breathing and when John heard Paul's breath get more laboured, he almost let out a whine. 

Then, Paul's hands moved back up to the waistband of his pyjama bottoms and before John realised what he was doing, Paul slowly lowered his bottoms, taking his underwear down with it and exposing himself to John's wide and eager gaze. 

John's throat went dry at the sight of it: Paul's cock, hard and pink, twitching as the chill of the room hit it. He could barely believe it. He had seen Paul's cock before. He had snuck little looks during their circle jerks, desperate to catch a glimpse. But he had never seen it fully. Parts of it had always been hidden behind an arm rest or some other boy who was sitting in his line of sight. But there was nothing to hide it now and John's fingers and jaw twitched and ached with desire. 

Paul wrapped his hand around it and John moaned. He was small but to John that didn't matter. He loved it all the more. To him it was perfect.

Paul's breathing filled the room as he worked himself. His movements were quick and unceremonious. He wasn't putting on a show, but simply letting John watch as he touched himself. John began nibbling on Paul's toes, his foot, and licked a wet line over the sole that got Paul shivering, wanting nothing more than to see the man come undone before him. 

His own cock twitched and jerked as it begged for attention, but John ignored it, focusing all his attention on the man before him. 

He wished he could touch Paul, take over and get him off himself as he kissed those full lips Paul was now chewing on. 

It didn't take long before Paul's orgasm drew close. He was moaning now, letting out all sorts of tiny sounds that he was clearly trying to bite back. His cheeks were flushed and his eyebrows pulled in a deep frown. His mouth had fallen open and his puffy red lips glistened with spit. John knew it wouldn't take long. 

"D-don't… Don't stop…" Paul's voice came, soft and low, and John moved his hands to rub at Paul's calve, hoping it would tell Paul what he really meant to say:  _ I won't. Do it. Come for me. Please. _

John wasn't sure if Paul had understood, but the boy obeyed anyway, cocking his head back and biting his lip to hold back his moans as he came with a curse, body tensing for a moment as he let go and release spilled over his hand. His toes curled in John's mouth and the older boy continued to suck as he watched the sight unfold. It was a gorgeous image, to see Paul come, frowning at his pleasure and gasping, and to his own surprise John heard himself whine in response. 

Come glistened on Paul's fist as he caught his breath, cock slowly growing soft in his hand. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling with each deep breath, and a weak smile formed on the boy's lips as John began to litter his foot with kisses. John could not stop looking and when Paul opened his eyes again, their gazes locked. 

A shiver ran over John's spine, and his heart thumped in his chest as carefully dropped Paul's foot, pulling off with a wet plop before guiding it back down and finally releasing it as Paul had been begging him to for so long. 

He was scared for what Paul would do now that the veil of sexual arousal was no longer clouding his thinking. He was actually afraid. But the expression on Paul's face did not harden. Not even as he once more glanced down at John's own crotch. The smile faded, but his face remained soft and John swallowed thickly as he waited for Paul's next move. 

Lifting his eyes to John's again, something passed between them, though John doubted either of them quite knew what it was. 

Paul's lips moved, mouth opening and closing again, as if he wanted to say anything. He didn't, though. Instead he glanced down at his own foot, lying next to John on the bed, wet with John’s spit. John half expected Paul to kick him again, to pick up their earlier game and pretend what had transpired between them had not happened. He tensed, readying himself for it as Paul began to move his foot, a sneaky little grin on his face. 

But Paul did not kick him. And John groaned from deep in his throat as Paul pressed the sole of his foot against the bulge between John's legs. 

"Oh fuck…" he moaned and Paul bit his lip as he began to move his foot, rubbing circles and trying to curl his toes as he felt for the outline of John's cock; the shaft and then the head, tracing the shape. 

John could barely believe it was happening, but here he was: hard and moaning in Paul's little bed, his legs spreading wider and Paul's foot between them, touching him, rubbing him, actually pleasuring him. It was even more wonderful than he had always imagined it would be, even through the material of his clothes. And  _ fuck…  _ John didn't think he would last long. 

He didn't want to come yet, though. Not like this, cock trapped in his pyjamas. He wanted to feel Paul's skin, wanted to feel the nakedness of Paul's foot against his cock. He wanted it, because he wasn't sure what was going to happen after this and he would never forgive himself if he missed the opportunity. 

So, laying a hand once again on Paul's ankle, he halted the other boy's movements. He refused to look at Paul — out of embarrassment or fear, he wasn’t sure — as he moved his other hand, grabbing the waistband of his bottoms and underwear and dragging them down over his hips and past his thighs, just as Paul had done, keeping his eyes closed. 

He could hear Paul breathing, low and heavily, breath briefly stocking as his eyes no doubt fell to John's erection and John couldn't help but blush at the knowledge that Paul was looking at it, just as he had looked at Paul’s. Eyes still closed, he cupped Paul's foot in his hand, cradling it softly, and brought it back to his crotch. He hesitated a moment before he pressed the sole of Paul's foot to his erection. He hissed at the contact and automatically inched his hips up into the touch, rubbing himself against the soft skin of Paul's foot. 

"Ah fuck…" he cursed, almost inaudibly. He continued to move as he held Paul's foot in place, feeling the way Paul tried curling his foot to give John more friction. 

As expected, John did not last long. The sensation was too much and John had been too far gone already just from watching Paul and licking the foot that was now giving him so much pleasure. Pre-come leaked out of the head, easing the slide, and John could feel every detail of Paul's foot; the softness, the slender shape, the occasional rough patch, the toes. 

He could have come from that alone, just rubbing off against Paul's foot, but then suddenly Paul's other foot joined in too, warm and rough as Paul took John's cock between his two feet and began to move them up and down, giving John even more of that delicious friction that had already been almost too much. 

John made the mistake of opening his eyes, first glancing down to look at the sight of his cock between Paul's two feet, before glancing up to see Paul watching him, pouty mouth slightly open, brow furrowed in concentration. Their eyes met and for some reason John could not understand but only felt, the contact made it better and with two more thrusts, he came, groaning as he spilled between Paul's feet, moaning Paul's name. 

_ "Paul…"  _

_ "Paul…"  _

_ "Paul…" _

John didn’t care if they chose not to talk about it the next day. He didn’t care if they would never admit to this happening between them. As long as this would not be the last time they did this, secretly, in bed with the lights off.  __ It could be enough. 

He barely noticed it, though, when Paul’s feet retreated. He lay there, catching his breath and riding out the waves of pleasure that ebbed through him, and it was only when he felt the bed dip and something warm and heavy slide into his lap that he opened his eyes to see Paul hovering above him, looking at him through half-lidded eyes. Again, neither of them spoke as Paul moved, raising a hand to trace his fingers over John’s jaw, his chin, his cheek, hesitating when he reached his lips. John followed the movement mindlessly, letting his head tilt back a bit as Paul leaned in, letting John feel the warmth of his breath on his lips. 

In his post-orgasmic bliss, John did not realise what Paul was doing until it had happened. It had happened too quickly, the touch had been too soft, so John asked him to do it again. And Paul complied. And complied. And complied. Until John knew. Until he knew exactly what it was like to kiss Paul McCartney. 

**Author's Note:**

> John has a foot fetish, not me, so I hope this is good 😅
> 
> Thank you, chut, for reading this through even though you hated me for writing this. I love you!   
> And thank you, everyone else, for your patience. I hope you liked the fic and it was worth the wait <3


End file.
